


Strangers In The Night

by elisa_anya



Series: Mafia AU Collection [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Destiel - Freeform, FBI Agent Dean Winchester, M/M, Mafia AU, Mobster Castiel, Russian Mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 12:07:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14260641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisa_anya/pseuds/elisa_anya
Summary: Castiel ran away a long time ago and started a new life under the alias of Jimmy. He got a job he enjoys, fell in love with a wonderful man and moved on. But when men from his past return to kill off the traitor who got them in so much trouble and his husband Dean accidentally calls him by his real name, Cas realises everything was just a lie.





	Strangers In The Night

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I've been reading a couple of mobster!Cas fics and I loved them, so here is my own contribution!  
> I hope you enjoy it, feedback is appreciated ;)

People would always tell Castiel that he was one hell of a lucky guy. At nearly 40 years old, he was so handsome that it wasn’t unusual for women and men to turn to do a double check on him when they passed him on the street. He also had a job that he really liked working as a librarian; some people would think it boring, but Cas walked around the aisles of books with a smile on his face and could be usually found with his nose buried in a book at his desk if he didn’t have something else to do at work. It was an ideal job for him. And then, of course, the grand prize was his hot as hell of a husband, Dean Smith. Oh, it was a match made in Heaven, they all said! Cas had moved into a new neighbourhood a couple of years ago and there had been Dean to receive him along with some of the other families that lived next to or across the street from his house. They hit it off right away and got married in less than two years counting from the day they met.

Castiel had started to believe the same a couple of years ago, that he had finally found some peace of mind, some quiet corner in the world where he could be happy and lead a normal life with a man he could openly love. He had escaped the terrible family he had grown up with, a home full of murderers and criminals, with the help of the FBI. Castiel, the young son of a high ranking member of the Russian mafia settled in Chicago, had ran away and asked for help, giving all the information he had in exchange of protection, because he knew that whatever the FBI did to him would be better than whatever end he would inevitably meet in his current environment. He wasn’t strong enough for that kind of life, he didn’t have the stomach for the violence. He was kind where he should have been ruthless, caring where he should have enjoyed hurting others, and worst of all, he was gay. His father had tried to force him to be cruel, to hurt others and fall in line as the rest of his brothers had, and Castiel could pretend to be just another perfect solider sometimes, but there was just no curing him of his sexual orientation. That, his father could never take away from him. There were no place for gay men in the Russian mafia, and he would never get to love anyone the way he truly wanted. An empty life of horrors was the only thing waiting for him, so he took the chance and ran away.

When the FBI gave him a house and a job somewhere else, somewhere _safe_ , Cas spent months jumping at every weird creak at night that his old house made, every whistle created by the wind currents outside. Whenever a car pulled over right next to him, his stomach would twist painfully and he’d looked over, the blood leaving his face, waiting for someone to come out of the vehicle and shoot him, or _worse_ , take him back to Chicago. He spent weeks sleeping just a couple of hours a night, his hand only a couple of inches away from the gun that laid on the nightstand, ready to defend himself if someone came to make him pay for his betrayal. In the end, a doctor had to prescribe him pills to sleep when he nearly passed out at work after the first few weeks. Those were dark times for him and he felt like he would never feel safe, like there was no real escape from the feeling of dread that always haunted him…

But time proved him wrong. That, and Dean Smith. He had the easiest smile, he laughed with his whole body, throwing his head back as he arched his body. He talked and talked about things that were foreign to Castiel and it distracted him from the dark cloud that usually followed him around. He would invite Cas over and over again for dinner, until he accepted and it became a regular thing. He was kind, funny and sexy as fuck of course, and after a while Cas begun to finally feel something other than fear: affection. True, unconditional affection. Love that was offered freely, without the expectation of receiving anything in return, without strings attached, without favours to be made, like it happened in his family. All Dean wanted was to be around, and so Cas let him.

Friendship blossomed into something more very quickly. One night Castiel just couldn’t help himself anymore and he kissed Dean while they were watching yet another one of his friend's cowboys movies. He looked so content, smiling stupidly at the TV. It was the single most beautiful thing Cas had ever seen. Luckily, Dean kissed him back… and then he did more than that. Neither of them cared that they might be moving too fast as they ended up fucking on the sofa that same night. No, they both wanted to rip each other’s clothes off so damn badly and knew the other wanted it just as much. Castiel let Dean take him like he’d always wanted another man to take him and he knew right there and then that he’d made the right choice running away, that going his entire life without the pleasure of Dean’s weight on top of him, _inside_ of him, would have been a downright tragedy.

Finally, Castiel started sleeping 8 hours a night when he felt Dean’s comforting warmth and weight pressed against him. He started to laugh. He stopped watching his back obsessively as he walked down the street. He put the gun inside the drawer and kept it there without the need to take it out for months on end. He made space for Dean’s clothes in the closet. Then he bought a ring, he asked a question. Dean said yes.

He had it all, he’d really thought he had it all. He still had trouble sometimes responding to his new name, Jimmy, and he sometimes still wondered with a span of guilt and sadness what had become of his brothers, but he put his past behind him and he moved on, living a small, normal life with Dean.

But now he’s sitting in a police station, elbows on his knees and hands on his head, dry blood on his shirt, feeling like an idiot for ever believing that he would be anything close to normal one day. What a fool he had been to think one could really leave their past behind. After years of living without being found, he’d felt safe, he’d thought the mafia had stopped looking for him, but he should have known better; they don’t forgive and they certainly _never_ forget.

Three men had broken into their house, waited in the bedroom for them to come back home from their date night. Cas went upstairs first, but didn’t go into their room right away. He went into the bathroom, took a leak, and was coming out just as Dean had reached the top of the stairs. He saw Dean’s eyes widen in horror and then his husband did something he shouldn’t have been able to do; he called him by his real name.

“Cas, behind you!” he shouted, running towards him.

Cas jumped backwards, towards the bathroom, as he heard shots being fired. He fell to the floor and had a guy on top of him in the blink of an eye, his gun inches away from his face but pointing away from him in a weird angle. Even after all those years, his instincts kicked in and he was wrestling the other man as if he had never stopped practising fighting techniques. All those years of training against his will to hurt other people were now paying off, to protect himself. Just as he managed to turn things around and pin the man on the floor under him, kicking his gun away where he could not reach it, he heard more shots being fired and noises of struggle in the hallway.

“Dean!” he cried, turning his head around as dread filled every single fiber of his being.

The man under him took advantage of his distraction and punched him so hard across the face, Cas fell backwards on the cool, tiled floor. He saw the guy launch himself towards the gun in the corner of the room and Castiel jumped over him in automatic mode before he could get his hands around the weapon. He grabbed him from his hair and turned his face around before he started punching him ferociously, just like his father would have wanted him. The man still got hold of the gun but Cas moved away just in time as he shot. Bits of ceiling fell on top of him. The guy aimed again but Castiel gripped his arm, twisting it painful, aiming the gun towards him instead, and forced his hand shut until the gun fired. Cas wasn't sure where the gun had made contact with the other man’s body, and frankly he didn't care, but blood splattered all over him, painting the white walls and tiles red as well. After that, the guy under him stopped moving.

Castiel grabbed the gun and turned around just as another guy walked into the room. He shot him on the knee without hesitating for a single second, the thought of his husband in danger driving him insane, making him want to set the world ablaze if something happened to him. If his father could see him now, so vicious, so remorseless, he’d be so proud of his youngest son…

He brutally kicked the screaming man on the side of the head without giving him a second thought and ran into the hallway. Dean was on the floor, struggling with a huge guy that was straddling his lap and choking him. Castiel raised the gun, ready to shoot him, but when Dean locked eyes with him, he waved his hand to stop him.

“Get the fuck away from him or I’ll put a bullet in you,” he panted, his voice full of rage.

The guy hesitated for a second, looking over his shoulder at him, but the sight of Castiel was absolutely terrifying; a deadly, wild look in his eyes, his face and clothes covered in blood. He looked insane, dangerous, relentless. The stranger opened his hands and slowly moved them away from Dean’s throat, who gasped loudly for air, coughing several times. Only now Castiel saw the small pool of blood under the side his husband. It set a wild, blinding need to hurt his attacker shooting through him, so he shot the man who had begun to stand up on the thigh. He collapse on the floor and cried out in pain. He raised his gun again, aiming for the head this time.

“Cas- no!” Dean told him, struggling with his sore throat.

His husband struggled to his feet, grabbing his left arm with his right hand. There was a hole through his t-shirt and he was bleeding but not badly, he would easily survive that injury…

When the fear of losing Dean disappeared, a new feeling overcame him; fear _of_ Dean.

“What the hell are you doing?” the man he loved asked him as Castiel pointed his gun at him instead.

“You called me Cas. You know my name. My _real_ name,” Cas hissed. He was confused, hurt, lost, all at once. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m your husband, for fuck’s sake! Put the gun down!”

“Not until you tell me who you really are!”

Dean shook his head in disbelief, hurt in his eyes, but after a moment he sighed. “I am- I _was_ FBI.”

Castiel’s hand shook, tears in his eyes. He gritted his teeth together and it sent a shooting pain in his jaw, right where the other now dead man had hit him before.

 _FBI? No- no, Dean’s a mechanic-,_ his thoughts raised in his head trying to make sense of things, trying to make sense of the past wonderful years with Dean.

“There’s a pair of handcuffs in the room,” he told Cas, slowly moving towards him because Castiel was closest to their room and he still hadn’t put the gun down, “let me put them on this guy, then I’ll call for backup, okay? And we can- we can sort this out. Alright?”

Cas said nothing but had allowed Dean to do his thing. He got the first aid kit from the bathroom, ignoring the mess he’d left there except to make sure the guy he’d knocked out remained that way on the floor, and threw it in his husband’s direction, not offering his help to clean or cover his injury. Help came in no time, and it wasn't your everyday cops; no, these were men in suits, most likely from the FBI and probably old buddies of Dean, Cas thought with resentment.

He was in a kind of haze, feeling like he was outside of his body looking all around himself at once, as he let himself be led into a car by Dean, and then they were taken into a police station with a caravan of police cars behind them. Castiel wanted to scream, to break something, not because he’d almost being killed, but because he realised the most beautiful thing, the _only_ good thing that had ever happened to him, had been a lie. Dean was a lie.

In the police station they got separated. Dean only accepted to leave his husband's side when a man called Bobby arrived.

“I don't need a babysitter,” Castiel spat at him, leaving Dean standing alone in the room, not saying goodbye to him before he left to have his arm tended by a doctor.

Dean opened his mouth to say something, his body going after Castiel’s like a magnet, but Bobby put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“Let him go. The doctor is waiting for you. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Trust none of the policemen. If something happens to him, I-,” Dean inhale sharply, then swallowed hard. “I only trust you, Bobby.”

Bobby nodded and Dean felt like he was going against the forces of nature as he left.

Castiel went into a small bathroom in the precinct and looked at himself in the mirror for a long minute. He was disgusted by his blood-stained face and quickly began to try to wash it off. He washed his cheeks, moving his hands slowly against the right side of his jaw because it hurt too much from the punch, then his hair, his neck, but there was nothing he could do for his shirt, he would have to throw that one away. He washed his hands, hissing in pain as he rubbed his bruised knuckles. He stood there with his hands gripping the sink tightly, letting his head fall forwards in defeat. He started to feel it, the beginning of a panic attack. He hadn't had one in years and it wasn't a fun ride. He ran a hand through his hair, breathing rapidly as he tried to contain his feelings. He needed air, he needed to run, to get away from this feeling, from everything.

Maybe he would have, had Bobby not been there outside the door to stop him.

“You okay, son?” he asked cautiously, yet kindly. Cas couldn’t even bring himself to lie with a pathetic nod. He felt like if he attempted to speak, he’d burst into tears. “Come on, you can lay down on the break room.”

Bobby showed him the way to a small room with two tables, a couple of chairs, a large leather couch and an old, kind of smelly armchair. Cas had let himself fall in the couch, leaning forwards with his elbows on his knees, hands on his head.

Now, he is desperately trying to hold on, though onto what he isn't quite sure, but he doesn't want to break down and cry in front of the strange man, he still has some dignity. He can’t help his shaky hands though, no matter how hard he closes his hands into fists around his hair.

“Dean will be back in a couple of minutes,” Bobby speaks from his spot on the door. He’s leaning against the frame, looking down at his feet- that's as much privacy as he can give Castiel while he is charge of looking after him. “Why don't you try to get some sleep?”

Cas lifts his eyes to glare at Bobby, but he says nothing. There's no need to say he won't be sleeping tonight, or probably ever again, Bobby knows that. Hell, anyone who walked in right now could see the mess of a man Castiel is.

What are probably only minutes feel like hours to him. He feels like a sitting duck, waiting to be shot at like a fool. He sees policemen walk around the precinct, stealing curious glances in his direction, and he wonders time and time again, _are you one of them? Are you waiting for Bobby to make a mistake and leave me unprotected? Are you plotting to kill me?_

He can't breathe. His chest feels tight and compressed as if an elephant were standing on it. He looks around, looking for a way out, but the windows are covered with bars and even if he took care of Bobby, there's no way he could get out without anyone seeing him, there are a dozen cops waiting in the other room. And where would he go, anyway? He can’t go back home, that’d be foolish, too dangerous. He doesn’t own his house, he can’t sell it for money and run away, it’s a house owned by the State. His savings aren’t impressive enough to allow him to just start all over again either. He’s stuck. His life is over, he’s dead, he will be soon. What the fuck is he waiting for here, anyway?

Castiel can’t help the tears that gather in his eyes and fall down his cheeks. He tries to cry as silently as possible because he’s been programmed to think men don’t cry, it’s a sign of weakness, you must never let anyone see you cry if you end up succumbing to your feelings, which you shouldn’t. He gets up and turns around so that no one can see his face, moving to stand next to a window and looking at the snow fall down in slow motion under the light of a street lamp. His shoulder shake ever so slightly. He doesn’t hear Dean coming in and shut the door behind him.

His husband watches him for a long moment, his heart breaking at the sight of Castiel crying alone in a corner.

“Jimmy-” he starts out of habit. He’d spent years fighting the urge to call Castiel by his real name. He’d always thought it was a shame he couldn’t use that one because it was rather beautiful in his opinion and he’d secretly referred to the other man as Cas in his head for years. He’d called him Cas out loud tonight for the first time, when fear had overpowered Dean and made him forget about everything else. “Castiel…”

Cas stiffened and became frozen. He sniffled quickly, like Dean wouldn’t be able to tell if he was fast enough, and wiped the tears away with the back of his hand, making sure his back was to him the entire time so Dean couldn’t see his face.

“What?” Castiel asked dryly. There was an angry edge in his tone.

Dean sighed as he took a couple of steps forwards.

“Are you alright?”

Castiel snorts and turns around. There’s a nasty bruise forming already in the side of his face. His eyes are red and bloodshot. His usually beautiful, placid face is twisted into an expression of utter pain and anger. His shirt is covered with blood. He looks at Dean in a way he never has before, there’s nothing loving about it, and it scares his husband to the core. He looks like a complete stranger.

“You’ve never been stupid,” Castiel tells him, his tone reflecting just as much anger as his face, “so don’t ask stupid questions.”

Dean takes another deep breath, trying not to let that get to him. The last thing he needs is to lose his temper. No, Castiel needs him now, probably more than ever. He takes a few steps forwards, reaching for his hand, but Cas moves away and sits in the armchair.

“Who are you?” he asks, glaring at Dean up and down like it’s the first time they’ve met.

“Cas, you know who I am.”

“No, I don’t, so tell me. Who the fuck are you? Is your name even Dean Smith?”

“Cas, come on...” Dean all but pleads as he kneels in front of him. He tries to take Castiel’s hand in his but the other man folds his arms over his chest and then leans further back into the armchair, away from him. He just stares at him, waiting for him to proceed. Dean sighs in defeat. “Fine, Cas. My name _is_ Dean… Dean Winchester. I used to work for the FBI, okay? I was… I was supposed to look after you. Keep an eye on you... Alright?”

“Why?”

“For your own protection.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Dean.”

“It’s true!... But also in case you decided to go dark again or something.”

Castiel bites his lower lip, smiling to himself like a madman. He looks away, out the window again, and Dean just doesn’t know what to do, what to say. Cas finds himself unconsciously playing with his wedding ring, twisting it nervously around his finger. He stops when he catches himself doing it.

"Do you know why I ran away, why I turned myself into the FBI and helped them?” Cas suddenly asks, though his sight remains frozen on the window. “I didn't do it because I was some kind of noble hero that wanted to stop bad men from doing their evil deeds. That would have never been a good enough reason for me, I was too afraid of them. I didn't do it because it was the right thing to do, because I am still not and probably will never be a good person…”

A fat tears rolls down his face. This time Cas doesn’t even bother wiping it away. He sniffles as Dean’s eyes follow the trail of the tear, all the way down to Castiel’s jaw, where it is suspended for a moment before it falls onto his lap. He knows better than to try to reach forwards and touch Castiel right now. He wants to tell Cas that he is wrong, that he _is_ a good person that maybe used to do bad things, but that isn’t him anymore, he’s good, Dean is sure of that, but he stays quiet and lets him continue.

“I did it for selfish reasons. I did it because I wanted you. Even before I met you, I wanted you. I wanted to be able to fall in love with someone of my own choosing, but if my father found out that I was gay..." Cas chuckles darkly. The son of one of the leaders of the russian mafia, a gay boy. His father would have had him killed before he allowed his son to be with a man. "I did it for you…” Cas looks down at him, his eyes hard, full of hate. “And it was all a lie. Did you ever even love me? Or was I just a job to you?"

"How can you be asking me that?" Dean replies angrily, closing his hands into fists.

"I don't know you. You've lied to me since the very first time we met."

"Yes, Cas, I lied,” he admits, nodding a couple of times, “and I am sorry, but don't be a hypocrite, alright? You lied to me too, since the beginning. I understand why you did it, I don't hold it against you. I knew you were being honest about the things that really mattered, so I didn’t care."

“The things that really mattered?” Cas laughs in his face. “What, about the books I like?”

“About who you are- who you _really_ are, inside, no matter where you come from. You’re kind and caring, smart and just- just _amazing,_ ” Dean tells him, not realising his hands are now planted over Castiel’s thighs, his fingers pressing against the fabric of Castiel’s slacks with urgency. “I fell in love with you, with all of you, Cas. And I wasn’t supposed to. I was supposed to just be your friend, make sure you fitted nicely into the community and that you didn’t show signs of wanting to get back in the game, and then I was supposed to move away after a year or two. But I couldn’t. The first time you kissed me… Fuck, I wanted you so badly, I was done for from that very first kiss. I had to stay, with you, I just had to, so I quit and kept the life they had built for me.”

Castiel looks at him for a long moment, the hate and mistrust in his eyes softening ever so slightly. He wants to believe this, he wants to so badly, but he’s so confused, the feeling of betrayal and uncertainty squeezing the life out of the last shreds of the comfortable feeling of safety Dean used to give him. He’s going through the millions of memories of them together in a haste, trying to find the moments in which he should have realised Dean was an FBI agent and not who he pretended to be, revising their entire relationship in just a couple of seconds, second-guessing every single thing ever said or done, every gesture, every intention...

“So... after we got married and the mechanic shop had a very bad economic phase… That was just you quitting your real job.”

Dean nods. “I mean, the shop is good money, it pays the bills… But it didn’t hurt to also get paid by the FBI.”

Cas nods only to have something to do with himself. He’s aware of Dean’s hands on him and he doesn’t want to admit it, but it's comforting; it’s familiar, whether the affection was real or not. Those green eyes dig holes into his own and he has to look away, he can’t stand the pleading sight in Dean’s eyes.

“Cas, please…” he pleads softly, something Dean has never really done before. “Maybe the beginning of our friendship was forced, and I am so sorry about that… But I will never regret it. I can’t, not when I feel this way about you. And I will _always_ feel this way about you, no matter what name you take, where you live... I accepted the risks and the consequences of staying with you a long time ago, I don’t care anymore.”

 _The risks… The consequences… What consequences?_ Cas wonders. It takes him a moment, then his eyes snap back in Dean’s direction.

“Your family- they’re not really dead, are they?”

Dean shakes his head. “Not all of them, no.”

“Jesus, Dean!”

The guilt rushing through Castiel is incredible, it hits as quickly and mercilessly as a tsunami. Dean has lost every single major holiday with his family, every single year, ever since they met, because of him, to keep the lie alive. His family missed their goddamn wedding.

“Have you not seen them in all these years?”

His husband only shrugs like it’s unimportant but there are tears in his eyes, and they hurt as much as the punches thrown at him earlier that night.

“I see my brother, Sammy, once or twice a year… We meet somewhere, never the same place twice, halfway from each other. I do it when I need to travel to get new parts for the shop that I can’t get here, so you won’t get suspicious. We have dinner together, hang out for a couple of hours.”

“A couple of hours…” Cas repeats under his breath, shaking his head, disgusted at himself now, at the life he’s dragged Dean into.

“I also call him a couple of times a year, with a burner phone,” Dean adds, like that makes the situation any better. “I call Bobby too. He’s… he’s like a father to me.”

“Dammit, Dean… They must hate me. I stole you away, I ruined your life.”

“No, you didn’t. It was _my_ choice. Cas. Cas, look at me.” Dean grabs his forearms and pulls his arms away from his chest, his hands softly sliding down his skin until they’re holding hands. “You’re my family too and they know that, they respect that.”

Castiel shakes his head, closing his eyes.

“We’re strangers to each other, Dean... We’ve been feeding lies to each other for years.”

Dean takes a deep breath and sighs.

“Okay…” He gets to his feet and takes a step back. Castiel can’t help but long for his touch again. He looks up at him, thinking this is it, he’s done it, he’s pushed Dean away. A stupid, stubborn part of him that doesn’t believe in happy endings wants him to go, to leave Castiel alone to his miserable fate, but the side of him that had really believed they would always be together is begging him to react, to reach for his husband’s hand again. He doesn’t need to, though, because a moment later Dean’s extending his hand towards him. “Let’s start over, then. Hi. My name is Dean Winchester. I am a retired FBI agent, now I’m a mechanic. I like rock classics, cars and cowboys movies. I love my family and I love you. Nice to meet you.”

Cas looks at his hand for a long moment. There’s a small fraction of time during which Dean thinks the other man might actually not take his hand… but then he does. The relieved that sweeps through him is a gift, he can feel the muscles of his body finally relaxing.

“I’m Castiel Novak… Son of a murderer… I like History books, languages and insects… And I love you too.”

Dean pulls him up from the couch and takes him into his arm. They stand there in a tight embrace for a long time, relaxing in the comfort of each other’s presence. Who the hell was Castiel kidding? He could never leave Dean, there was no offense too big that he wouldn’t forgive, not when it came to that man.

Their mouths find each other and they’re kissing, maybe a little too passionately considering there’s a big interior window in the room, so everyone in the precinct can see them, but none of them care, they’re lost in the warmth and the taste of each other. They only stop when Dean’s hand cups Castiel’s face and he winces in pain; that side of his face is still very sore.

“I’m sorry,” Dean pants against his lips.

“It’s okay…” Cas nudges his nose gently, resting his forehead against Dean’s. “I’m sorry I didn’t help you bandage your arm earlier. That was awful of me.”

“I understand, it’s okay.”

Castiel holds onto Dean like he is air itself, a basic human need that he needs fulfilled. He’s the only thing left worth fighting for. But what are they going to do now? Where will they go?

"What now? We can't go back home," Cas pulls away, just an inch away, to look at Dean. Even after everything that had happened tonight, even though he’s got his own bruise under his eye and he looks tired and bloody, Dean is a sight for sore eyes, as handsome as the day they met.

“I called my brother. We’re going to stay with him for a while. Cas, it’s okay,” he quickly adds when his husband looks worried and is probably about to protest against putting Dean’s family in danger, “he’s an agent too, nobody knows where he lives, or what our names are either. However they found us, it wasn’t through the FBI, they’ve kept us safe all these years, we can still trust them, we can trust Bobby and Sam. We’ll be safe, we’ll start over, together. Sam’s eager to meet you, you know? You two nerds are going to hit it off really quickly, I promise.”

Cas almost punches him on the arm, but then remembers there’s a hole in it and it would probably really hurt him. Dean chuckles at the way Castiel is glaring at him, trying to look threatening, but all there is to see in that sea of blue is affection.

“I can’t tell you exactly where it is until we get there, but it’ll be nice, I’ll make it work, I promise. We’ll have a home again in no time. What do you say?”

“Okay,” Castiel agrees, leaning forwards to kiss him again, speaking with his eyes closed as their lips brush against each other’s. “Home... home is wherever I'm with you."


End file.
